Cruel Devotion
by Little Mae
Summary: There are instances that begin the sudden unraveling of your life, that rip holes in the fabric of your being until it is unfixable. It could be anything:a loose thread pulled, a secret revealed. Eventual EC modern story, KayLeroux influenced.
1. The Beginning

A/N: Hello, all. My muse forced me to write this story. It's not like I have any extra time, with all the SAT junk that I'm doing. But I never do things the easy way, and so I am once more making life more difficult for myself. I promised myself I would finish this story, unlike others I've started and never finished. Reviews would help, of course.

It's AU, set in modern times (don't leave). Christine's father is alive, as you will see. It's a pretty important part in the story, so just give it a chance. It's only the beginning. Erik is…well, you'll just find out if you read it, hmmm?

**Cruel Devotion**

Ch 1: The Beginning

There are instances that begin the sudden unraveling of your life, that rip holes in the fabric of your being until it is unfixable. It could be anything- a loose thread pulled, a secret revealed. For Christine Daaé, it began on a frigid night in the city.

The girl hurried through the cold streets, pulling her black pea-coat closer to her body, nestling her face into her multicolored scarf. People rushed by her, each one intent upon reaching their destination. She barely glanced to either side of her, eyes fixed upon some distant point. She was jostled by the multitude of people walking on the busy sidewalk in New York until she turned onto a quieter side-street.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she continued on her way, glancing over her shoulder quickly. Feeling uncomfortable, she pushed her curly hair back from her face with a shaky hand and walked closer to the circles of light that the streetlamps provided. Brow furrowed, she took slower steps, obviously preoccupied with something.

* * *

"_Dad…please talk to me. What's wrong? Is it something with the business?" Daaé placed a shaking hand on his daughters shoulder, avoiding her concerned gaze. _

"_It is nothing, Christine. We've just been having a few problems with your inheritance. I know you don't want anything to do with this, but you are my only daughter." He sat on a plush couch in the living room, coughing. "Have a seat, honey."_

_Christine shook her head and stood. "You know I don't care about the money. I just care about the music. I never wanted to go into business." She rubbed her forehead anxiously, feeling a headache coming on. _

_Christine Daaé was 20 years old and a student at an exclusive performing arts college. Her mother had passed away when she was a child, and her father had slowly built up his small business until it became one of the top corporations in the music industry. Consequently, he was very rich. Christine was never comfortable talking about their wealth. She wanted to make her own path without any help, and Gustave Daaé let her make her own decisions._

_However, he had been diagnosed with a serious type of lung cancer that was progressing rapidly. Christine didn't like to think about it, but she knew the day would soon come when her father would not be able to be there for her. He wanted her to become head of the business in his place, but she always refused._

_Gustave spoke again. "Christine, I understand if you don't want to get involved. I just need to know what your decision is." He looked at his daughter kindly. He knew this was hard for her._

"_Can I let you know tomorrow?" She made puppy-dog eyes at her father, who tried not to smile. The puppy-dog eyes always got him._

"_Oh, fine. But in all seriousness, Christine, I want you to do what you think is best. Don't try to please me if that's not what you truly want." Christine had nodded solemnly, promising to think long and hard about it. She would tell him her decision tomorrow._

* * *

It was tomorrow, and Christine still hadn't figured out what she wanted to do. She wanted to make her father happy, but she didn't want to be stuck doing paperwork all day. Music was her true passion, and she had never been good with numbers and figures. Christine didn't want the power, didn't want the prestige. She wished life was simpler, and it was just the two of them- the struggling violinist and the girl who could sing before she could walk.

Unfortunately, life didn't work out that way. And now she was on her way to her father's office in the ridiculously cold weather, after failing to hail a cab in the busy city. The girl could have easily taken her car from the garage, but she decided to walk.

Christine could hear her own solitary footsteps over the distant honking and commotion of the main streets. She could see her own breath puffing out into the sharp, clean air. Glancing at her watch, she quickened her steps again, cutting into a small alleyway that she knew was a shortcut to the street she wanted to go to.

She suddenly felt uneasy, peering through the dark behind her and in front of her, feeling slightly claustrophobic. She saw of flash of gold and stopped short. _What the hell…_

A black gloved hand wound itself around her mouth and she was pressed against the rough brick of the wall. Her eyes went wide and she moved her head from side to side frantically, attempting to break the person's hold. She tried to scream through the leather covering her mouth, then opened her mouth and bit down hard. The person cursed but did not let go, and the blazing eyes moved closer to her face. An unmistakably beautiful male voice breathed into her ear, and she went limp with shock. "Do not try to run. It will only make things harder for you."

She nodded obediently, but tensed her body just in case he let go. He removed his hand for an instant, and she let out a strangled yell until she felt something sharp jab into her neck. She felt the coarse surface of the wall at her back and caught the sight of glowing golden eyes with perfect clarity before the black spots clouded her vision.

The sinister black figure looked at the unconscious girl for a second before picking her up and disappearing into the darkness.


	2. Silent Struggle

A/N: Second chapter! More reviews, anyone? Come on, we see a little more of Erik in this chapter...

Chapter 2: Silent Struggle

Gustave Daaé sighed and checked the clock a third time. Where was his daughter? Christine had always been a dreamer with her head in the clouds, always late to anything important. But it had been three hours since she called and told him she was on her way. Could something have happened to her?

He wearily picked up the phone and dialed her cell number for the third time. The phone rang and rang before her voice cheerfully told him to leave a message and she'd get back to him. He had to go find her. If she was in trouble…

Daaé got up quickly and left his spacious office, locking the door behind him. He moved through the corridors, almost in a panic. Barely acknowledging anyone, he moved with haste to the front door and breathed in the cold air. It was okay, Christine had probably just forgotten their appointment. He felt a migraine coming on, and tried to ease the pain by rubbing his temple with his fingertips. The now regular pain in his chest increased, and he began coughing furiously.

He got into the car awaiting him, and relaxed in the backseat. He would go to her apartment and see if she was there, then check with her friends. He breathed out, and then froze as he found a paper in his coat pocket that had definitely not been there before. Gustave slowly pulled the paper out and unfolded it. He caught his breath as he read the three words scrawled upon the paper.

_It has begun._

He let the paper flutter from his fingertips as he stared blankly ahead. He began gasping for air, loud wheezes emitting from his throat. He grasped the back of the seat, and the driver sent a concerned glance behind him.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." he panted. _No…not Christine…_

* * *

The hazy world slowly came into focus as Christine blinked sleepily, wondering why she was lying on the floor. She tried to move her head, and a quick pain shot up her neck. She whimpered in pain, and closed her eyes again once the past events caught up with her. What had it been – two hours, three? She couldn't remember. 

Painfully, her stiff body aching, she pulled herself into a sitting position and gazed around at the darkness. She felt chilled, and realized that someone had removed her coat and scarf. The girl put her hand up in front of her face, and saw nothing. It felt as though all her senses had been dulled. She blew a stray curl out of her face, sweeping her hair back with shaking hands. Now for the business of actually finding out who her captor her was, and why he wanted her. Her father would pay any amount of money to have her back, she was sure.

"Hello?" she called, "Is anyone there?"

All of a sudden, dim lights somewhat lit up the room, leaving deep shadows. Christine paused, breathing hard. Her hand rose up to her throat as she tried to calm herself down. Still on the ground, she watched as a part of the shadows detached itself from the rest, and a black-clad figure walked slowly towards her. _It's him,_ her mind screamed. _Get up! _Not wanting to be at a disadvantage, she shakily rose up on her feet to face him. He was still at least a foot taller than her, however.

They stood just a foot away from each other: Christine shivering, and the man regarding her coldly with dead eyes that she had to look away from. Her voice shaking, she addressed him. "What do you want with me? My father will pay any price you name, as long as you let me go."

He laughed softly, causing a chill to run down her spine. "I don't want your money. Someone else does."

As he spoke, she studied him curiously, noticing for the first time the silken black mask covering his entire face. For a second she almost forgot about her predicament, intense curiosity overcoming her fear. Then his eyes flashed yellow as he met her glance, and she quickly looked away.

"What are you staring at?" he snapped angrily. "Wondering what's behind the mask?" His lovely tenor voice grew low and dangerous. "If I were you, I would be more concerned with myself than other people at present, Christine Daaé."

She lowered her eyes, fighting back tears. "Who are you?" she whispered, her hands shaking. How did he know her name?

He countered her tonelessly with another question, eyes glowing almost playfully, "Wouldn't you love to know?"

Christine threw her head up indignantly. She didn't appreciate being toyed with… "If you are going to kill me, sir, please do it now." And she squeezed her eyes shut, her hands clasped. After a few seconds had passed and no excruciating pain had come, she cautiously opened them again. He had disappeared, but his mocking laugh echoed around her.

"If I were going to kill you, I would have done it without delay." Suddenly he was behind her, and she froze as his gloved hands ghosted the air over her arms. Christine could feel the vibration of his chest as he spoke softly. "Perhaps I won't ever have to…"

His lyrical voice sounding so close to her ear made her shudder and she cursed herself for being so vulnerable. She had no idea what he was capable of…

He stepped back and she spun around, chest heaving. "Are you working for someone? Has anyone got my father?" He shook his head in mock sadness, his uncovered mouth set in a cruel smile. He spread his hands deprecatingly, "All questions I cannot answer, my dear. Stay here and no harm will come to you." He gestured towards the room and started out, closing the door behind him.

"Wait!" she called to him, "You _are_ coming back, right?"

The man stopped in the doorway and looked back for a second, before carelessly tossing over his shoulder, "We shall see." And he shut the door quietly.

Christine sank back down on the hard floor, resting her pounding head on the wall behind her. Who was this man? He was very dangerous- that was certain. Whoever he was, he would have no qualms about killing her. He was probably planning on it. The sick bastard was _playing _with her.

A shiver ran down her spine and she found herself on her hands and knees, her eyes blurred with tears. She would be just another unsolved mystery, a random murder that made headlines for a couple of days and then died out after the police couldn't find her body. And she would never see her father again…what would he do without her? Was he okay? She choked out a sob, her entire body shaking as she fought to keep from throwing up. Morbid images of her own dead body flashed through her head, and she curled into a ball, hugging her knees tightly. She stayed in that position until some of her frantic energy had died away. She knew she looked like a crazy person, but that was only because she _felt_ like a crazy person.

Christine eyed the wall and started to wonder how many times she would have to hit her head against the wall before she died. _No,_ she thought, _I couldn't do it._ She would have to be strong and think of someway to get out of this alive. She sat up again, wiping away her tears messily with one hand, and tried to compose herself. The stricken girl gazed at the closed door absent- mindedly, knowing that _he_ would have locked it already and hating him for it.

And what was he hiding behind that mask? Was it just to scare her? What did it matter if his next victim saw his face? She tried not to think of his emotionless amber eyes staring out from the holes in the mask._ Think rationally_, she told her brain firmly. Could this be connected to her father's business somehow? Maybe this was part of a bigger plot than just a senseless murder. _I hope._

* * *

The masked man slipped quietly through the streets, becoming invisible in the dark shadows of the small alleys and back ways. The few people walking in these less reputable areas walked quickly, not noticing where the shadows became deeper near locked stores and boarded up apartments. He curled his lip in scorn; these people had nothing to worry about. The girl currently locked in a room underground unfortunately did. He didn't like to kill women – they usually didn't pose a threat to him except for the constant screaming. Most of the time he stayed away from those jobs. But sometimes it was unavoidable. 

A voice with a harsh, rasping tone broke through the man's musings, and he turned slowly.

"Do you have the girl?"

The masked man inclined his head mockingly, "I do." His unearthly voice seemed as if it did not belong there, and the raspy voiced man looked at him warily. The taller man cocked his head slightly to the side, eyes glowing.

"Is there a problem?" he asked sardonically, clenching his fists in what could only be intimidation. The shorter man flinched back, grumbling as he retrieved a small leather briefcase and reluctantly handed it over.

"There you are, you demon. I tell you, if I didn't have to work with you-"

The dark figure cut in smoothly, "What shall I do with the girl?"

The other man leered. "Don't kill her yet. We have to see what her old man'll do first. Otherwise she's all yours…"

As silently as he came, the masked figure turned away with the money, having deemed the conversation over. The man left standing there watched him go, rough features twisted in a scowl at his failure to get a rise out of the devil with the angel's voice.


	3. A Song

A/N: The third installment! Don't worry, dear reviewers, all will be revealed soon. Just hang in there. And to all the people who aren't reviewing- please do! The hits counter doesn't lie. Tell me if you liked it, if you disliked it, any suggestions would be appreciated. Thank you.

Chapter 3: **A Song**

Determined to try to keep herself busy, Christine slowly rose from the floor again. Glancing anxiously at the door, she wandered over to the shadowy areas of the room. A small wooden nightstand, the little lamp where the light was coming from…curious, she opened the little drawer in the nightstand. A solitary pen rolled around in the empty drawer. Nothing that could really be used as a weapon. She took it anyway, just in case, and shoved it into her pocket. She walked around the perimeter of the small room warily, squinting to see through the dull light.

She absent-mindedly trailed her finger across the wall for a second, then looked down at her dirty finger and sighed. Wiping her hand off on her already sooty dark-blue jeans, she jumped back as her ankle hit something hard. She gasped in surprise as she bumped into a small cot, all but hidden in the corner. It looked fairly clean. Christine drew back the scratchy covers, flinching as if she expected something to jump out at her. Her lids grew heavy as a wave of exhaustion hit her, the adrenaline from her fear dissipating. Maybe she would just rest for a while.

Looking warily around, Christine sat down on the squeaky mattress, sighing as her sore body met with a yielding surface. Cautiously, she lowered her torso and winced as the springs met the bruises on her back. _This was better…_ She started singing softly to herself, trying to mask the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The soft lullaby reminded her of her father, and she relaxed as she gently hummed the refrain. She heard her own voice as if from far away, and she felt herself drifting. She gazed around the room sleepily, knowing that she should not sleep, that it wasn't safe.

The lights flickered shut. She uttered a short scream and sat straight up, straining her eyes to see through the darkness. Her blood pounded through her veins, and her heart started pounding anew. Two glowing lights hovered in the pitch-black, and Christine scrambled to the head of the cot, hugging her knees to her chest. She sat in the dark trembling, like a small child in fear of retribution. Ever so slowly, she reached down to her pocket to feel the imprint of the pen through the material. It was all she had. She could feel the goose bumps on her arms as she prayed frantically in her head. _I don't want to die; I don't want to die…_

* * *

The tall shadow had returned to his sanctuary – only this time he had an unwanted guest in his usually empty home. The room she was in was the only unfurnished room in the whole place, and he would almost felt sorry for her. That is, if he could feel. Oh, he had given up on the whole race a long time ago; he no longer counted himself among their lucky number. Humanity was nothing to strive for. 

He left a couple of items that he retrieved from her apartment by the door, and would have left her to her own devices if he hadn't heard a faint, yet pleasant noise coming through the thick wood. Curious, he stopped and moved closer, narrowing his eyes behind the mask in concentration. Lilting notes reached his ears, and he froze as he heard the almost perfect pitch of her voice. Frightened as the girl was, she had a damn good voice. She kept singing, keeping him standing at her doorway like a smitten teenager.

His gloved hand hovered over the doorknob, unable to stop himself. What he could do with a voice like that...no. He couldn't give the girl whom he had just abducted singing lessons! He was getting senile in his old age, really. There was a job to do, yes; he couldn't veer from what he was told to do. Couldn't get attached to that voice. And yet…

Hating himself, the shade gingerly turned the knob and stepped into the room, immediately shutting the light so that she couldn't stare at the mask. He heard her breathing hard, and was surprised to find her sitting on the cot in the corner of the room. He, of course, could see perfectly fine through the dark. The only way she could see him was his eyes. That was good; he had control of the situation like he always did. Like he always would.

He threw his voice so that it sounded somewhere near her right ear. "Keep singing, Ms. Daaé."

She gasped and her blue eyes widened, glancing over her shoulder sharply. Her breathing quickened and the man could sense her overpowering fear from across the room. Her eyes darted back and forth, trying to pinpoint his exact location.

"What do you want with me?" she breathed, hand reaching into her jean pocket. He looked at her quizzically and began to advance.

"I believe I just asked you to sing." Now the voice was on her left side.

She grew more agitated, hand reaching out helplessly in the dark as if he was actually there. "I won't sing for you! I don't even know who you are. You can't make me!" If only she had a weapon better than a pen…

The ghost stopped. "A bargain, then? If you continue to sing, I will tell you who I am. Otherwise I'm afraid you won't like what will happen next."

The voice came from straight in front of her. Christine burst into motion, flinging the pen at him with a strangled cry. The man caught the pen in midair easily, and then slipped it into his pocket. He swept to her side, holding her wrists in a tight grip as she fought back at him, swinging wildly in the dark. Choked sobs came from her throat as he restrained her, her head bowed. She glared up at him stubbornly through a mass of honey-colored curls.

"Come now, Christine. Don't be foolish. Sing for me."

She resentfully unfolded her legs and stood, her chin held high. Behind the defiant attitude, however, she was scared out of her mind. Tear marks trailed down her cheeks. Christine began to sing again, her voice quavering as she held out the high notes. Her posture was rigid out of fear, and she knew that her voice was not the best it could be. The shadow's golden eyes were thoughtful as they gazed upon her. Her voice swelled at the climax of the soft Scandinavian melody, and then the notes faded into the darkness. She watched the glowing eyes watching her, and tried not to break down.

"Who taught you that?"

"M-My father. He would sing it to me when I was a child. But now I go to-"

He interrupted her, folding his arms. "Your mother died, I presume."

She nodded, her expression hardening. "Now it's your turn."

He was silent. Christine took a step forward to where the shadows became darker, and put her hands together in front of her as in prayer. "Just tell me your name, at least."

The man chuckled darkly, and pulled out the pen, twirling it around long fingers. "My name is Erik. And I must say, you have the most interesting methods of persuasion," he drawled. He held the pen out to her with amusement dancing in the golden light of his eyes.

She turned her head away, sitting back on the cot. "Please don't hurt me. I…I'm sorry I threw the pen at you." Christine glanced up at the masked face above her, contrite.

Erik bent over and ran his hand over her tumbled dark-blond curls briefly. "Good girl. I don't believe it would have done much damage. However, I would refrain from trying to fight Erik again. I do believe he would win."

She nodded tiredly, too exhausted to make sense of her situation now. There was nothing she could do at the moment but wonder why she was still alive. He held out his hand, and she hesitantly took it. Pulling her up from the bed, he procured a handkerchief from seemingly nowhere and tied it around her eyes. Christine stood still, grasping his hand more firmly as the blackness over her eyes became complete. It was only then that she felt the coldness of his hands seep through the leather gloves, and she gasped in surprise. Why were his hands so cold?

Erik tugged her hand to make her walk, and she took a step unwillingly. "Where are we going?"

Her only response was "Shhh," as he led her down what seemed to be a hallway, but she couldn't be sure. She didn't let go of his icy fingertips until he stopped and took off the blindfold. She looked around the more brightly lit room, then back at her captor. He was gone again. Christine sighed angrily, until she heard his angelic voice again. This time it was inside her head.

"One more thing, Christine. There is the matter of your voice. I will instruct you whenever I see fit. I will not have such an amazing instrument wasted."

Christine laughed hopelessly. "But what is the point of giving me lessons if you are just going to kill me?"

"I never said I was going to kill you," the voice in her head whispered intimately. Then there was silence.

There was no rhyme or reason to any of this. Erik didn't seem like a serial killer, just very dangerous. And perhaps somewhat insane. But there didn't seem to be any imminent danger unless he was told to kill her. Right now, she just needed to sleep.

Christine collapsed on the actual bed, feeling her body sink into the mattress. The room was furnished much nicer than the other sparse room. She closed her eyes, and fell asleep on the top of the blankets, still in her jeans and t-shirt.

Erik watched her sleep from where he stood, in a convenient little passageway behind the one-way mirror. She was feisty. None of the other people he had to capture had ever tried to fight him in such a futile situation before. Usually he was just ordered to kill them right away. He didn't get any enjoyment out of it whatsoever, but it paid for his rather expensive tastes. What else was he fit for, really? No one in this wretched city would ever accept him.

He shook his head. What had possessed him to move her to a nicer room? It had to be her voice. She had obviously been classically trained, but had so much raw, untapped talent that lay just beneath the surface. Erik knew talent when he saw it, and no one usually disputed him on the fact. He had been watching her for some time before he captured her, memorizing her routes and habits. It was his job, after all. And he was the best at what he did.

His eyes were drawn back to her sleeping form, and they lingered over her delicate, finely-boned features. Christine was, he grudgingly admitted, somewhat pretty. The word "lovely" floated through his brain, and he sternly reproached himself. She stirred, muttering something in her sleep, and he turned away to walk through the dusty corridor. He would see what tomorrow brought.


	4. Knowing

A/N: Another chapter before the weekend starts. Thank you guys so much for reviewing and being kind, it really keeps me going.

**Chapter 4: Knowing**

Daaé struggled to keep calm and get his breathing in check. He didn't have time for a trip to the hospital now…Christine was in danger…he felt his pulse beating irregularly in his head. Who could have taken his innocent, unknowing daughter? Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward and tapped on the clear panel that separated the driver from the passenger. The car swerved to the side of the road as the driver rolled the window down.

"Is everything fine, sir? I could hear you wheezing."

The worried father pointed a shaking finger at the note lying inconspicuously on the black leather seat. "My daughter…We need to go to the police station. Now."

The driver's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't quite understand."

Gustave sat back down wearily, passing his hand over his face. "You don't need to understand. I need to talk to the police. Or the FBI. Or whoever can tell me what's going on, damn it."

The poor man nodded bemusedly. "Yes, Mr. Daaé. I'll take you to the police immediately."

Grimacing, the older man tried to slow down his breathing to get rid of the flashing black spots in front of his face. Could it be that someone was trying to extort money? And was holding Christine captive for ransom? That could be it. But how would they know where to find his daughter? It was all so sudden. He drummed his fingers impatiently, cursing the heavy traffic that was present even this late at night.

He was jolted out of his frantic thoughts as the limo stopped in front of the police headquarters in Manhattan. The driver came around and opened his door for him, and he unsteadily stood on the pavement. Squaring his shoulders, he told the driver to stay in the car until he came back. With that, he strode (or wobbled) through the doors. He stood in the midst of bustling policemen and women, feeling slightly out of place. Looking around at the expansive building, he had the thought that it looked much smaller from outside.

"Can I help you, sir?" The receptionist was looking at him strangely.

Gustave cleared his throat. "My name is Gustave Daaé, and my daughter Christine has gone missing."

The women's eyes lit up. "Daaé…from the music stores? I bought a magnificent violin from your company, and I absolutely love it. It is my…" She trailed off as the man stared at her in disbelief. She coughed, embarrassed. "Sorry, sir. Can you tell me about what time you determined her missing?"

He tilted his head back in thought. "She was supposed to meet me in my office at about 7:00. At 9:30, I believe, I left because she still hadn't come. When I exited the building, I found this note in my pocket." He gently placed the note on the counter.

The receptionist brought the note towards her, lips pursed in concentration. "Sir, I'm going to call in one of our private investigators, if you will wait just a moment."

Daaé nodded in appreciation. "Thank you…"

She looked up. "Ms. Swenson." Then she went back to pounding on the keyboard of her computer and speaking into the little headset wrapped around her head. Gustave went back to worrying about his daughter, until a middle-eastern looking man in a dark business suit appeared in front of him. He spoke with a slightly accented voice, though his English was crisp and correct.

"Mr. Daaé, my name is Nadir Khan. Please follow me," he turned on his heel and headed towards a door close to the main entrance. Daaé followed him, taking the note along with him. He felt he knew the man from somewhere…

After closing the door, Nadir turned back to the startled man standing in the middle of the small room. "Mr. Khan, my daughter could be in danger. You need to find her quickly." Gustave got straight to the point, feeling as if he was about to collapse.

The dark-skinned man sighed heavily. "Please sit down." He gestured to one of the chairs, and sat behind the wooden desk, placing his elbows on the surface. The investigator stared at Christine's father with piercing jade eyes. "Mr. Daaé, do you have any reason to believe your daughter was kidnapped by a rival of your company?"

Gustave shrugged. "I suppose I have enemies that are jealous of my success, but I never believed they would go so far as to kidnap Christine."

Nadir sighed again, and came straight out with it. "Sir, at the time of your daughter's kidnapping, she was also being followed by one of our men. Discreetly, of course."

The older man burst out, "What? Why was I not aware of this? Why were you following Christine?"

"We had been getting veiled threats against your company and the safety of you and Christine. We believed it would be best not to inform you, seeing as we get these sorts of petty threats against people daily. Usually it never comes to anything, but we stationed men to watch you and your daughter just in case something happened." Nadir took off his glasses and rubbed his stinging eyes.

"Well, something damn well did happen! And where was your man when Christine was kidnapped? Oh, I regret ever bringing her into this…"

The Iranian shook his head slowly. "We do not know what happened exactly, but we found our agent knocked unconscious in an alleyway not far from where Christine supposedly vanished. He radioed in to tell us she was walking in the direction of your building, and then we didn't hear anything from him."

Gustave slumped down in his chair, wiping sweat from his forehead. "This is all my fault…Christine didn't have a clue about business, and I pushed her…You should have informed me. I wouldn't have made her go anywhere alone."

Nadir looked at the poor man more kindly. "Once again, I am very sorry. We didn't think the threats would actually be carried out. Now, the most important thing is to find your daughter. We have already employed teams to try and locate her without causing undue suspicion."

"Have you had any success?"

"Not yet. However, we do have reason to believe that Christine has been kidnapped by an unconnected party, who does not have any real loyalty to the cause except for monetary purposes."

Daaé closed his eyes and then opened them very, very slowly. "Are you saying that my daughter is in the hands of a hired killer? A man who murders people for a certain price?"

Mr. Khan grimaced. What could he say? He ran a hand through slightly graying black hair. "Ah…we believe so."

Gustave stared straight ahead. "And do you have anyone particular in mind?"

_Now this was getting tricky_, Nadir thought. "Well, sir…I can't really say much about it, but there is one man whom we have been trying to catch. For years, actually. I unfortunately know him and his tricks a bit better than most, and we still haven't found out where he goes. This is part of the reason we were trailing Christine, and took these threats a little more serious than most. In one note, there was mention of a certain 'masked friend'."

"And is that…?"

The Iranian nodded grimly. "That's him, we believe."

A silence. Nadir looked away uncomfortably as Mr. Daaé discreetly wiped his eye with a shaking hand. "So…where can you go from here?"

"First of all, I'd like to get this note you have checked out for confirmation that it is the same guy that sent the anonymous notes to us. It looks like their handwriting, whoever it is. Most likely, Mr. Daaé, they are looking for money. That's what we get in 99 percent of these cases. That is why they send notes to us. They _want_ us to know about it. Hopefully we will find Christine quickly, but if not…"

Gustave nodded firmly. "I will pay anything to get my daughter back. Any amount of money."

"I had thought so. Still, I hope it doesn't come to that." Nadir stood up from behind the desk, signifying the end of the meeting. "Mr. Daaé, it was unpleasant meeting you under these circumstances, but I have heard a lot about you." He shook his hand as Gustave smiled wearily.

"Thank you, Mr. Khan."

"It is my pleasure." Nadir started towards the door, and then turned around abruptly. "And one more thing. Please try to keep the press out of this…usually they just make situations like this a lot worse."

Daaé knew what the press could do. "There will be no problem there. I have had trouble with the press in the past."

The Iranian smiled slightly. "It seems that we are on the same page, then. You may go home, and we will call you right away if you get any leads. I know that waiting can be torturous, but be rest assured we are doing the best we can."

With that, the two men exited the room, Nadir walking briskly towards the front desk, and Gustave wandering to the door, still in shock. His driver jumped out and held the door open for him as he slid thankfully into the warm backseat. He waved away any questions and rested his head on the seat, his head pounding. "Back to my house, if you please."

His mind grew foggy as the limousine pulled back into the honking traffic, and he wasn't even aware when he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Dun dun dun! 


	5. Sickness

A/N: Sorry this one's a little late, guys. Again, thanks for the lovely comments and reviews.

**Chapter 5: Sickness**

Christine tossed and turned, never being able to truly fall asleep. At one point she actually sensed someone watching her, but blamed it on her paranoid subconscious. Every time she opened her eyes, she prayed that she would be back in her small apartment and the dark shadow would be just a product of her nightmares. It never came true. Shivers swept through her body as she pulled back the covers and burrowed into the comfortable mattress. The girl sighed, turning her face into the starched pillow.

She felt hot and sticky, and her throat burned terribly. Finally she opened her eyes for real, finding the room dark. She tried to raise her upper body, but couldn't. Christine's arms felt like dead-weights, and she struggled silently to sit up. What was wrong with her? Had she been drugged again? She opened her mouth and tried to scream, but only a hoarse whisper escaped her chapped lips.

Desperate to feel something cold against her flushed skin, she pressed her cheek against the icy metal of the bed post. _Well, that didn't work_, her wandering mind told her. Almost in a trance, she forced her aching body out of the tossed blankets and walked mechanically over to the locked door of her room. She was still wearing her sneakers…_why was she still wearing her sneakers?_

_No matter._ Raising her fist, Christine pounded on the door repeatedly. No one came for what seemed like hours. Drowsily, she leaned against the wooden door, shivering again. _Who did she think was coming? …Erik? _

She was on the edge of collapse when the door slowly opened and a black shape appeared in the doorway. Her eyes couldn't focus- the image was blurred around the edges. She smiled dreamily and croaked out an incoherent sentence before collapsing in his arms.

* * *

Flashes of color; figures of light dancing just beyond her reach, images displayed themselves against the darkness of her closed eyelids. Christine was in a spinning, whirling maze, confused and lost. She was numb. She saw a black mask floating in front of her, yellow eyes frantic… She couldn't find her way out…time stretched out to encompass months, years. She dreamt of a child. The dream-girl spotted her father, arms open and waiting in the distance. The little girl giggled and happily bounced over to the small swing set where he stood waiting. _Papa_, she tried to say, _Papa, I made a new friend. _

He wasn't looking at her. Little Christine strained her vocal cords, waving her arms madly in front of her father's distant gaze. Still no sound emitted from her open lips. Tears ran into her mouth, salty and bitter. She rushed over to the crumbling water fountain, turned the knob. Water ran out, and the girl tried to rinse the taste of sadness from her waiting mouth. The water turned black, and Christine screamed and screamed. Her throat was red and raw…

Christine awoke abruptly from her nightmare to find herself within another one. She moaned as cold water dripped down the side of her face into her hair, coming from the cool cloth on her forehead. She forced her eyes open to see an expressionless black mask staring at her. Christine attempted to talk, but her throat felt like it had been ripped out and put back again. She didn't know if he would listen to her, but she had to try.

"Water, please," she rasped, her eyes adjusting to the dim light.

He stood up from his chair with cat-like grace and exited the room without a word. Christine waited. Erik entered a minute later with a small glass of water, and she felt like crying in gratitude. No matter that she was still in a dangerous position, with a very dangerous man. She could have hugged him.

He watched her carefully and tilted his head to the side as he held the glass out to her. "Don't drink too much," he told her softly, "Take little sips. Your body is most likely dehydrated."

That voice! It had echoed through her fevered dreams, and she hadn't even remembered who it belonged to until now. She closed her eyes and took a few sips, the cool liquid running down her parched throat and soothing the irritated tissue. Opening her eyes again, she gave him a small smile. She opened her mouth to try and say thank you, but he stopped her.

"Don't talk. You'll ruin your voice."

More orders. She rolled her eyes in exasperation. She still didn't understand why this man- Erik, she reminded herself- cared so much about her voice, or what exactly he was planning to do with her. Why had he cared for her? Why hadn't he just left her to suffer through her illness? Since she was forbidden to talk, she pointed to herself, to him and mouthed, _why? _

His lips quirked in an ironic smile as he understood what she was trying to say. "I couldn't have let you die, you see. It is essential to their plan that you remain alive."

Christine pushed her hair out of her face, and stared at her captor in annoyance. Was this the game, then? Find out when exactly he was going to kill her? And who was "they?" Her eyes darkened as she tried to find ways to convey her questions, and she threw her hands up in frustration. Erik gave a dark chuckle.

"Questions, questions. You are such an inquisitive little thing, Christine. Just know that you are safe at the moment." He caught her glancing at the full mask. "As long as you do not touch the mask, all will be well. For now."

She lowered her gaze and nodded obediently. He got up from the chair, satisfied. She set the glass of water down on the desk near her bed, and grasped at his sleeve tentatively.

Erik looked back down at her, surprised. He marveled at her bravery. Christine would touch him willingly, the courageous girl. She didn't yet know what he was capable of. For once in his adult life, he felt a twinge of regret at the thought of perhaps having to kill her. He had cared for her; he hadn't been that close to another human being in years. What made her special? Why _had_ he brought her back to bed and made sure she was comfortable? Watched over her until she had finally awakened? The cold-blooded killer that he had been for most of his life would never have done something in order to help another human being. _It must be her voice_, he told himself. It could be nothing else.

Christine fidgeted as he stared down at her, releasing the bit of fabric she held between her fingers.

"Well?" His voice came out harsher than he had meant it. She flinched back and then took a breath. She pointed to her wrist and looked up at him questioningly. _How long? How long was I asleep?_

"Two days," he told her. Her eyes widened in visible shock. Two days? For the first time, Christine looked down at what she was wearing and gave a sigh of relief. She still had her wrinkled t-shirt and jeans on. He hadn't…taken any clothing off. Her already flushed cheeks turned red at the thought. Her sneakers were off, however. Her skin itched, and she wanted a bath desperately.

Erik noticed her discomfort and his yellow eyes narrowed. "I was not going to take _advantage_ of you, Ms. Daaé. A monster I may be, but I am not as base as _that_."

Christine trained her eyes on the coverlet, her face burning. How on earth did he somehow turn the blame on her for wondering? He _kidnapped_ her, for God's sake. How could she know what he might do?

"Anything else?"

Forgetting not to talk, she whispered, "Where are my-"

He quickly put a long finger up to her mouth, which effectively stopped her from talking. And breathing.

"Hush, Christine. If you talk again I will be forced to duct tape your mouth shut. I will not have your voice ruined before we have even started."

"But-" she began hoarsely, as he trailed his hand down her exposed throat. Christine swallowed hard. What games was he playing?

"No talking," he whispered, his touch feather-light. She didn't move until he removed his gloved hand from her neck. It would be so very easy for Erik to kill her…she must never make him angry.

"Do we understand each other?" He was watching her again, eyes glowing.

She bobbed her head, her pale skin tingling from his cold hands. She didn't really have any choice in the matter.

He gestured to the cabinet, saying, "Some of your clothes are in there. I took the liberty of retrieving them from your apartment." Then he pointed to the small door in the wall nearest to the bed. "And there is the bathroom. You can wash up, but I shall be in later to check on you."

Christine rested her head back on the pillow again, feigning tiredness so that he would leave. She yawned, bringing her hand up over her mouth. He glided over to the door with unusual grace for such a tall man. She heard the small click as he locked the door behind him, and then swung her legs over to rest her feet on the cold wooden floor. She would get clean, and then evaluate her situation some more.

Opening the small wardrobe, she found her jeans and shirts and the rest of her clothing hanging up, and selected a comfortable outfit. It wasn't much different from what she was wearing now, just _cleaner_. She padded over to the bathroom and opened the door. Christine gasped inaudibly at the beautiful marble tiled walls and the luxurious bathtub. She turned the hot water tap on and added some scented bubbles to relax. If she was going to be stuck here for an indeterminate amount of time, she might as well enjoy some of it without worrying herself to death.

She dropped her dirty, grimy clothes to the floor and slipped into the warm embrace of the scented water, letting out a small contented sigh. Dipping her head under, she scrubbed vigorously at her long, matted hair. _Damn tangles…_

It was nice to think about something else. She worked through the knots in her hair until she was satisfied that it was sufficiently clean. She started to hum to herself despite her raw throat, then abruptly stopped and looked around nervously, as if Erik could somehow hear her making a noise. What did he know about her voice, anyway? Or singing in general. Although with his speaking voice being what it was, she could only imagine what it would sound like if he sang. Perhaps she would ask him if she ever got the chance.

The water started to get cold, so she stepped out, shivering. Wrapping a furry bathrobe around herself, she stared at her reflection in the small mirror above the white sink. Her skin was pale, and her eyes looked slightly wild. Her dirty blond hair framed her too-thin face in wet curls, contrasting with the pallor of her skin. How long had she truly been…well, wherever she was? Had she really been asleep for two days? Christine didn't trust Erik at all, but he was the only other person here. She would have to gain his trust if she wanted to survive.

She put her clean clothes on quickly, feeling vulnerable even in the locked bathroom. A pair of comfortable jeans and a white v-neck sweater helped her regain confidence. She didn't have any control over the situation, but she did know how to stay alive. She could handle this. Christine tied her wet hair up in a ponytail, and then ventured back into the room.

She jumped back on the bed and sat cross-legged, reveling in the feeling of being clean. Her throat was still burning and a hammer was still banging away inside her skull, but she wasn't as frightened as before. It was clear that Erik wasn't planning on killing her any time soon. That was a good thing. She had just gotten situated when the man himself entered the room, a bottle in his hand. The girl schooled herself to remain calm. She wasn't in any imminent danger.

"Hand me that spoon, Christine." She noticed the spoon sitting on the dresser beside her, and handed it to him. Her hand brushed his slightly, and she shivered. Preoccupied with the bottle, Erik didn't notice as she took another look at him, black overcoat still hanging loosely off of his frame. He was skinny, she observed, but had enough power to kill a man easily. His strength was like that of a wild animal having to fight for their own survival. She was broken out of her reverie by Erik holding the spoon out to her.

"Drink it all." Christine looked at it warily, without taking it from him. It could be anything. She looked up at him, expecting some verbal abuse.

"Dear God, woman, do you think I would poison you now? Take it or I will have to pour it down your lovely golden throat myself. With or without your consent."

She sighed and took it from him; her eyes never leaving his as she slowly put the spoon in her mouth and swallowed. Her heartbeat racing, she checked for any fuzziness around her vision or pain in her stomach. No and no. He was telling the truth. Christine's breathing deepened, and it was clear that Erik was very amused as he gestured for her to give the spoon back. That was good, wasn't it? He wouldn't kill her if she amused him.

He rose to leave again, and she masked a sigh of relief. "Very good. Now get some sleep."

Christine didn't want to sleep. She pouted almost unknowingly, but stopped as soon as she noticed his gaze drifting down to her mouth. Sitting back on her pillows, she crossed her arms in annoyance and stared at her white comforter. She was like his doll. He would control her every action for as long as she stayed here, she was certain. It wasn't a very pleasant notion, that he had complete power over her.

He crossed his arms as well, clearing his throat. "Stay awake then," he sneered. The young woman looked up quickly, warned by the malice in his voice. She slowly inched backwards, widening her eyes in feigned innocence. Erik didn't buy it.

"Pleasant dreams, Ms. Daaé," he said, sarcasm dripping from his words. He swept her a deep bow, and came up with his thin lips twisted in a smirk. He touched his mask briefly to make sure it was still in place, and then walked out of the room royally. Christine shook her head. Even if she stayed here for years (Dear God, no) she would never, ever understand this man. Her stomach suddenly growled and she was reminded of how hungry she was. Had she eaten anything? She wrapped her arms around her stomach and fell back on the pillow, pushing tears back from the corners of her eyes. She would not cry. No matter what he did to her, she would not cry again.


	6. I'll Die

A/N: Another installment, I apologize for the lateness. Finals are just about over, though, so I'll have much more time to update. Oh, the poetry reference is a bit random, but I couldn't get it out of my head after I read it. Please review!

**Chapter 6: I'll Die**

Christine was bored. She had re-analyzed her position, fretted over the hopelessness of getting out, agonized over the growling of her empty stomach, and threw her hair clip at the wall. She did not feel very productive at all. What did all the heroines do in the mystery books she had read? For some reason, Christine couldn't remember at all. It was as if her mind had gone blank, leaving her emotions to run rampant. Not a good thing.

Feeling like ripping her hair out, she took a great gulp of water to soothe her burning throat, and started choking. _Great. Now Erik is going to have to come in and save me from choking to death. CPR, perhaps. Or mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Just what I needed. _

"Stop it," Christine ordered her brain aloud in a low whisper. It was official. She was going crazy. How long had it been since he last came in and threatened to force the slimy medicine down her throat? She had lost all track of time. She must have spent at least 4 days here. If she got kidnapped at night…and she had been ill for two days, if Erik was telling the truth. He must have fed her _something_ when she was sick.

Groaning, she moved to the end of the bed and then stopped when her hand hit something hard. The girl slowly slipped her hand underneath the covers to reveal an old book of poetry. She tilted her head in confusion, her brow wrinkling. _He must have put it there_, she decided. Well, that was different from what she thought of him. She raised the book up, noting the well-worn creases in the cover and the pages. Several pages were marked, and she touched them gently with careful fingers. It seemed impossible to her that Erik would read this.

She had always loved old books like this- they had history. She loved smelling the slightly musty smell of books that had not been opened in a while, almost as much as reading the book itself. Her father had a huge library full of books- books on art, on literature, poetry, history, romance…how would Erik know what she loved? Her distrust of the man countered with her urge to open the book, but her love of reading and her extreme boredom prevailed. She settled into her blankets, reminded of the nights where she would sit in her father's big chair, enthralled in an unsolved mystery.

Still sitting cross-legged on the bed, she turned to the first page and started reading. _Coleridge…sounds familiar._

* * *

Erik buried his face in his hands, fingers digging at the roots of his scarce black hair. He sat at a polished and gleaming countertop, elbows resting on the reflective surface. His hands parted, and his eyes burned at the offending clock that rested on the wall. It ticked off the seconds loudly, obnoxiously. A black cell phone was tossed on the counter beside him, and he glared at it as if it had done him a personal wrong as well. His mind went back to the conversation that had taken place just a few minutes ago:

"_They've even got an ex-FBI agent on the case," the other man said worriedly._

_Erik narrowed his eyes. "And what exactly do you want me to do about it?"_

_There was a silence. "Can you get to her father without anyone noticing?"_

"_For a price. What you are thinking is foolish, though. He'll be too afraid to give up what you want if I threaten his life. He'll go straight back to the incompetent police force." He chuckled darkly._

"_You won't be threatening his life. You'll be threatening his daughter's."_

_Erik froze for a moment. "Christine?"_

_A laugh. "Is that the girl's name? I heard she was a pretty little thing. Are the rumors true?"_

_The dark shadow clenched his jaw in irrational fury. "I suppose so," he ground out. "Haven't you seen her already?"_

"_I'm afraid I haven't. I'll leave the dirty work to you. Tell him that if he cooperates and stops the police intervention, his daughter might survive. If he doesn't do what I say, then she's a goner. He won't do anything that might endanger his daughter."_

"_This is far from foolproof. I won't do it if even the slightest thing is off." Erik's mask suddenly felt stifling._

"_I have full confidence in you, my friend. You do this extra for me, and I'll keep your secrets."_

"_Fine." And he snapped the phone shut._

Erik hissed in frustration. That damned girl had been taking over his thoughts for a full day. He hadn't been able to do a single thing correctly. He had first spoken to her five days ago, and now she was slowly but surely driving him insane. How could that have happened? Her foolish stubbornness, her expressive doe eyes…he began to pace.

She had clung to him, _him,_ a victim of her fever-induced nightmares, and would not let go. The girl didn't remember any of it, of course, but Erik did. Emotions that had lain dormant for years overtook him quickly, too quickly for his conscience to handle. It was more than her voice, more than simple lust, he somehow knew.

And now he had to threaten her father. It was a bluff. He couldn't kill her now, not after hearing her voice. Not after seeing her pout in irritation as she attempted to talk to him without words. There was no doubt that she was the most infuriating female Erik had ever come in contact with. But he still wanted her.

And he would never, ever let her see his face.

Clenching his fists, he strode around the counter and picked up a plate with soup from the small table, and the bottle of medicine. He wanted to hear her sing again, but it was impossible. Perhaps he would allow her to talk, only a little. Just to hear her voice.

He made his way down the hallway silently, listening for any sounds coming from her room. It was oddly silent, and he frowned as he opened the door. He stopped in the doorway and observed her profile curiously.

She was sitting straight ahead, an old book held within her grasp. Her blue eyes stared sightless at the opposite wall, her lips moving as she recited something to herself. The dark-blond hair fell in messy strands about her face, which looked paler than before. Concerned, Erik glided into the room and set the meal down on the small dresser.

"Christine?"

She turned her head towards him as if in a daze. As soon as he got closer to her, she started back violently and started shivering. He took the book out of her limp grasp, and he smiled slightly as he saw what she had been reading.

_And those __her__ ribs through which the Sun  
Did peer, as through a grate?  
And is that Woman all her crew?  
Is that a D__EATH__ ? and are there two?  
Is D__EATH__ that woman's mate?_

_She had to have read The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, of all things_, he thought. One of his favorites, but he doubted that she took any comfort from the dismal verses. Golden eyes strangely soft, he turned her face towards him.

"It isn't real, child. You mustn't be afraid."

Christine's hazy eyes focused on his, and she choked back a sob as she leaned forward, clutching his arm tightly. "Let me go," she whispered, "Erik, I want to go home. I will die here."

Ever so lightly, he brushed his finger across her cheek. "No harm will come to you. You are safest here now."

The girl watched him warily, confusion written on her features. She still kept her voice low, "What is going on? Tell me, Erik. What is going to happen to me? To my father?"

Erik sighed. "You are but a pawn in this game, my dear. You simply have the misfortune of being the daughter of a rich man. They will use you how they like, but Erik will ensure your safety. That is a promise he will keep."

She narrowed her eyes at his cryptic message. "What do you mean?"

As if he had snapped out of a trance, his eyes turned cold once more and he got up, placing the tray on her bed. "Exactly what I said. Now eat."

Her stomach growled hungrily. She did not even try to pretend she didn't want it- she picked up the spoon and gingerly swallowed the hot liquid in the bowl. She could feel his eyes on her, and as she looked up he quickly glanced away. This man obviously felt _something_ for her. Despite the strangeness of that scenario, she knew that somehow she could use it to her advantage. Perhaps her situation wasn't as hopeless as she thought.

The last swallow of soup eased her raw throat, and she sat back feeling less frantic. She didn't even understand why that poem had affected her so…she hadn't even finished it_ …_Christine shook her head reflexively, trying not to remember the words that had shocked her from the slightest bit of comfort. She looked over at the still man watching her and met his yellow eyes. It was unnerving, really; it almost seemed he could read her thoughts. It was obvious he was no random killer off of the streets.

She became suddenly curious. "Who are you?"

Erik laughed, surprising her. He had a suspiciously nice laugh, when he wasn't threatening her. "I can be many things. None of which you would like to be associated with."

She grimaced at his meager answer. What did she expect? Christine looked at him with a wry expression and half-smiled. She felt that she would go mad if she was left alone in here, by herself, again. Even if he was the reason for her captivity as well as slightly insane, she couldn't deny a need for almost-human company. His eyes brightened like a child's in anticipation of a treat and he leaned forward slightly.

"I am the best ventriloquist in the world, you know."

This time she laughed. "Are you really?" she asked cynically. She couldn't believe she was having this discussion with a murderer. It was like the continuation of her horrible dreams.

Erik sat back in his chair, his pride wounded. "You don't believe me?" Christine's pillow asked her.

She bolted up from where she was leaning on the pillow, and laughed weakly. She hadn't known it was possible for a ventriloquist to transfer their voice to another object…he was telling the truth. Now she had to find his weakness. She had to keep him talking, flatter him even. Play along with his games. That was the way to her freedom. She could do this, make him trust her.

"I am sure that another man could do the same…" she started.

"But I am not like other men," replied her bed stand in a whisper. She whipped her head around, feeling disoriented. _Inanimate objects aren't really talking to me_, she reminded herself. It was just Erik. She focused her eyes on his masked face, and silent mouth. _Just Erik_…

"I believe you," she whispered back, her pale face solemn. He picked up her small hand in his large one, turning it this way and that in his easy grasp.

"You would like to go out, yes?"

She nodded eagerly, her blue eyes wide. Was it really that easy? Erik's expressive eyes remained impassive as Christine stared at him impatiently. "When I come back, perhaps we can go for a little ride."

Christine's face fell. She would be left by herself again…what seemed so desirable earlier was now her worst nightmare. She slipped her hand from his tentative hold. "Where are you going?"

He tilted his head. "My dear Christine, there is no reason for you to pretend to enjoy my company. Unless you are trying to gain something by this charade, in which case it has no effect whatsoever."

He rose from the ever-present chair beside her bed to leave when Christine blurted out, "Are you going to kill someone?" Immediately she clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. What had possessed her to say something like that? Her stupid mistakes could cost someone she loved their life. Erik slowly looked down on her, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"Would it bother you so very much? No, don't answer that. I wasn't planning on it, precocious child. I will be back shortly." And without giving her time to respond, he was out of the door.

Christine sighed angrily. Why did he affect her like that? Couldn't she just keep her mouth shut for once? She choked back a sob as she remembered what her father was always telling her…_You wouldn't be able to stop asking questions if your life depended on it_...The irony of it was laughable.

Her head pounded and a knot grew in her stomach. She sat silently, thoughts racing through her mind for what seemed like hours. She felt the need to scream loudly as her throat closed up, and she jumped out of bed panting. Gasping at the sudden dizziness that overcame her, she moved slowly to the door. The tell-tale click of a lock had not sounded when Erik closed the door behind him. Could he have forgotten? Her hand hovered over the doorknob as she listened for any sounds that might alert her to his presence. Hearing none, she touched the cold doorknob and cautiously turned it. The door creaked open and she squeaked in surprise, realizing what might happen if she was caught. Christine closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

_Too late now_, she thought, and stepped out of the room.


	7. Best Laid Plans

A/N- okay, here's the deal guys. I'm going through a pretty rough spot in life right now, but I really do want to continue and eventually finish this story. If I could only get some more feedback and support, then I would be more inclined to work on it. And no, of course this isn't called blackmailing. So...please review. And thanks to those few people who do review consistently. And now on to chapter 7.

Chapter 7: Best Laid Plans

"Wake up, sir. …Sir…"

Gustave blearily opened his eyes to white walls and muted lights, the smell of antiseptic filling his nostrils. He heard the soft bleeping of machines in the background. He blinked hard and moved his head to the side, squinting at the smiling, business-like nurse. What happened? Christine hadn't shown up…he had gone to see Nadir…

"Am I in the hospital?"

"I'm afraid so, sir. You have been floating in and out of consciousness for the past two days." He struggled to sit up, and she gently put a hand on his shoulder. "Please lie down, Mr. Daaé. I have to get a doctor in here."

He couldn't help it-he started to panic. The bleeping of the machines grew faster. "Do they have any leads? My daughter…she's missing…"

The nurse checked his vitals with a worried look on her face. "I don't know about that, but you need to calm down. I'll be back in a second." She rushed out of the room, her heels clicking on the shining floor.

Daaé wearily laid his head back on the white pillow, trying to breathe through his nose. The pain in his chest was growing with every breath. So he had been in here for two days. He _had _to find Christine, had to reach Mr. Khan somehow…perhaps they knew where she was now. His daughter was brave, but the fact remained that she had spent at least three days in the hands of a hired killer. _All because of him_, his mind said. Gustave was just about to slip back into the blessed darkness when the doctor walked in with purposeful strides.

"Mr. Daaé? Please stay awake for a couple of minutes, if that is possible." The doctor checked his chart, and then looked at the older man. "You have been fighting a severe bout of pneumonia, made worse by your current condition. Because of the cancer in your lungs, you are more susceptible to diseases like pneumonia or bronchitis. We've been monitoring you closely to make sure that nothing more serious happens, such as a collapsed lung."

Daaé looked up at the confident man, wishing he could just walk right out of the hospital and make sure his daughter was safe. "Thank you, Doctor," he whispered, "but how long do I need to stay?"

The doctor gave him a strange look. "Until we are sure that there won't be a relapse. Your body is very weak right now."

Gustave cursed inwardly. Why did his health have to fail him now, at such a crucial time? If he could just know what was going on…what new demands were being made? He would do anything in order to keep Christine safe.

"Have I gotten any calls?" his voice rasped.

"Actually," the doctor looked down at his notes again, "I was informed that someone did inquire after you, a Mr. Nadir Khan. He said that he had something confidential to tell you, but unfortunately you were not stable enough. He told the nurse that he would try again, and for you not to worry."

Daaé closed his eyes and sighed. At least Nadir was working on the case. He seemed qualified enough. Seeing him relax, the doctor moved closer and spoke in a soothing voice.

"I am going to give you a mild painkiller, something to help you sleep."

He was out before he could even feel the pinch of the needle in his arm.

* * *

Nadir paced the perimeter of his small office, hands clasped in back of him. He knew something was missing, something that was crucial to the safe return of Ms. Christine Daaé. His team was working quickly, but it still wasn't enough. He had found a man, Valdez, who had been within the employ of one Joseph Evans. This man didn't know whether the name was an alibi or not, but he did know that Evans had used the "Angel of Death" in the past.

Valdez had worked for the man for about a month, narrowly escaping with his life after failing to complete a task successfully. He informed Nadir that he couldn't tell him much about his employer, simply because he didn't know much. He did know that Joseph's location was somewhere in the projects of the city, a ramshackle tenement building that had been deserted for quite a while.

With further questioning, the man had told him that the "Angel of Death" was known merely by reputation among the more corrupt people of the city, a heartless killer who got the job done effectively for a high price. He had never come in contact with him, and thank God for it, the man told Nadir.

No one knew exactly where this man lived, and some believed he did not even exist. He had an allegiance to no one, and it was extremely hard to get in touch with him. Although Valdez knew of Joseph's association to the killer by word-of-mouth, he had never spoken freely of him to anyone.

All were things that Nadir knew already. It had become almost like an obsession to him, to find this elusive man and pin him down. The federal government wanted him behind bars as well. For what, Nadir wasn't exactly sure. What was new, however, was the introduction of this man, Joseph. Apparently, he had a link to the angel of death. Could he be the one orchestrating the kidnapping of Christine Daaé? Nadir couldn't be sure. The crook certainly stood to gain a whole lot of money if this plan of his succeeded. And with the most dangerous man in the city working for him, the stakes were shifted in his favor. Would they go so far as to kill Christine for the money? Too many unanswered questions for the retired CIA agent to contemplate…

To make the situation even worse, Christine's father was now in the hospital, in serious condition. Nadir groaned and slapped his open palm into his forehead. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he picked up the phone and spoke quickly.

"I want a further ID on this Joseph Evans, anything you can find." He waited, listening intently. "Yes, _anything._ Send it to my computer as fast as you can."

He sat back in his chair, brow furrowed. He _could_ send a team to the supposed location, but that might be too obvious and risky. Nadir hated waiting for their next move, but at the moment it was the best he could do without more concrete information. Tapping his fingers lightly on the keyboard, he stared at his blank computer screen. Twenty minutes…thirty minutes…The phone rang and he snatched it up quickly.

A clipped, concise voice: "Sent what I've found so far."

He smiled tiredly. "Thanks, Lauren." He clicked on the message that had popped up on the screen and began reading. He skipped through the parts he already knew from his source; big time criminal, hides his tracks well… Nadir leaned closer to the screen and his face grew slack as he read on. _This is him…the connection to the "angel of death", the connection to Gustave Daaé himself…We need only to find this man, and we find Christine. _He wished it really was that simple, but somehow he doubted it.The dark-skinned man rubbed his eyes tiredly, and then pinched himself to stay awake. People were depending on him.

* * *

Erik cursed to himself. The old man was in the hospital, of all places. The supposedly perfect plan was demolished. The incompetent fool that was paying him would not be pleased. Any other client would have paid much more, but this one knew secrets about him that he would prefer not to be revealed. And so Erik, the infamous Angel of Death, was sent on wild goose hunts that led to nowhere.

Why had he not been informed that Daaé was in the hospital? The moment he had a coherent answer from Daaé's driver, who had been checking up on his penthouse apartment, he knocked him out. The man wouldn't remember a thing. Erik fumed as he got into the backseat of his own car, fighting the urge to punch something. Or someone. He stretched his legs out and crossed his arms as the vehicle started to move. At least Christine was right where she was supposed to be- confined within the walls of her room.

His cell started to ring and he snapped it open, breathing heavily as he heard the voice on the other line.

"So what happened?"

"You bloody idiot," Erik snarled, "Daaé is in the hospital. Didn't you know?"

The other man sounded truly surprised. "The hospital? None of my sources informed me-"

Erik struggled to remain calm. "Your sources cost me precious time, Joseph. I won't tolerate it."

His voice grew defensive. "I'm paying you to work for me. And what have you done the past two days? Played nursemaid to the poor Christine? You forget, Erik, that I could inform the government of your whereabouts at any moment."

"They would jail you right alongside me," the masked man hissed.

Joseph laughed. "I am nothing compared to you, my friend. They've been searching for you for years. But this isn't about that. This is about me getting the money I deserve back from Gustave Daaé."

Erik grew silent. "I won't be able to get to him in the hospital. It will have to be afterwards, and I don't know how long it might take for him to be released."

"I don't care how long it takes you, but I want that man warned. Only after police involvement stops will he see his daughter. Then I can get the money."

He ended the call carefully without answering, and steepled his fingers together in thought. _Not a good day_, he thought sardonically. At least his Christine would be there, perhaps taking a nap in his absence…after all, it wasn't as if she had anything else to do…He stopped himself, frowning. Since when was she _his _Christine? He couldn't possibly entertain the thought that she would ever be his. He had taken her, and she was being used as leverage in a dangerous deal. Erik couldn't pretend it was anything more.

He sighed and massaged his temples. Christine and her voice was all he could focus on. He ached to hear her beautiful voice again. He had a sudden, desperate urge to see her, and tried unsuccessfully to calm himself. Where could she go?


	8. Puppet

**Chapter 8: Puppet**

Christine stood in the middle of a lavish hallway, staring about in absolute wonder. Her bare feet sunk into a plush carpet as she started to walk quietly. She tried a couple of doors, but found them locked. What could she do now? Erik had most likely locked the front door, but it wouldn't hurt to try…

She kept walking, determined to somehow find the front of this strange house. Christine found an open doorway and peeked in, blowing her hair out of her face as she gazed around at what seemed to be a kitchen. A very modern kitchen. She was no stranger to expensive things, and everything she had seen so far suggested that Erik was an extremely rich man. What exactly had he done in his lifetime to earn so much money? Kidnap people?

Starting to feel a chill, she wrapped her arms around herself as she made a right turn into an ornate sitting room. Ancient figurines adorned the mantelpiece, and the couch cushions were arranged artfully on the soft surface. Unable to resist, Christine crossed the room and sat down on the gold-threaded couch, instinctively tucking her legs up underneath her. For a second, she felt like a princess sitting on her throne. She raised her chin and threw back her golden hair before giggling softly at her own absurdity. She had to be delirious! The whole place seemed unlived in, like the abandoned castle in every fairy tale. Her eyes wide, she took in the shelves of books against the wall, and then her sight shifted to include a door with a gleaming handle.

Shouting with joy, she hurriedly tried the handle and sank against the door in despair when she found it locked. Her luck could only go so far. Erik was, she supposed, usually very careful. His leniency with her door must have been a mistake, made in a hurry. But what was he doing now?

She leaned her head against the door, cheek pressed against the wood. Her ears picked up the slight noise of the city, but it was muted. _That was strange_, she thought. The honking horns were usually able to penetrate any surface, if one was close enough to the street. _Where am I?_

Christine closed her eyes and listened, jerking back in fright as she heard soft footsteps coming closer. She leapt up and backed away from the door, heart beating a staccato rhythm against her rib cage. _It was Erik!_

She turned and fled, running back through an unfamiliar hallway, trying doors at random. Suddenly, all the doors looked the same to her. _Why, oh why had she closed the door behind her…?_ She heard the opening of the front door, and her hands started to shake. She tried another door which miraculously opened, and she slipped inside.

The terrified girl closed the door softly, and stood with her back to the wall. She stood there in silence, chest heaving, as she strained to hear something, anything. After rethinking her position, she scurried to the back of the dark room and sat, arms wrapped around her legs. _Stupid, stupid idea_, she chided herself. Who knew what he would do to her now?

Christine heard doors opening and closing near her, and brought her hands up to her face to keep her jaw from chattering. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she wondered which room she could be in. A dark suspicion bloomed in her mind, sending shivers up her spine. Erik wouldn't…leave the door to his own room open, would he?

Her body locked in place as the door opened slowly, a dark figure silhouetted against the light of the hallway. She tried to scrunch behind whatever she was leaning against, willing herself to become smaller as he closed the door behind him. His unearthly voice floated towards her, chilling her to the bone.

"Christine, Christine," it sighed, "Why did you run?"

Her voice cracked. "My door was open, Erik, I swear to you. I didn't go anywhere."

"It is quite dangerous for you. You are much too curious for your own good," he said.

"I didn't mean any harm, truly. I only wanted to-"

Erik broke in. "I have had a very trying night, my dear. Would you like to hear about it?"

Christine stayed silent. Erik seemed to be staying in one place, which was good. If he could only turn on the light so she could see…

"Very well. I won't tell you about your father, who is currently in the hospital. And then I come here, and find you in _my own room_. Didn't anyone teach you about privacy, silly girl?"

The girl felt very faint. "My father…in the hospital?"

"That's right," the voice purred. "He wouldn't be very pleased to find his daughter gallivanting about strange men's rooms, either. One would think you didn't care much for your own safety."

Christine's blood froze at the thinly-veiled threat, and she stuttered, "I had no idea…I wasn't aware…"

A dim light was flicked on, and Christine blinked rapidly before looking around the room. Her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes flickered over the large pipe organ in the corner, the ominous notes papering the walls, and the scattered sheet music on the floor. She almost gasped as she saw what she was leaning against- was that a coffin? No, no, it couldn't be…it was just a bed, an oddly shaped bed with black sheets folded pristinely over. Her eyes were playing tricks with her. She raised fearful eyes to Erik, who only chuckled sinisterly.

"Go ahead, Christine, look around. You are the only visitor I have ever received in here. Make yourself comfortable, I insist." He sat on the organ bench, watching her.

Christine stood up slowly, feeling his yellow eyes burn into her. She had to get out of his room before the situation grew more uncomfortable than it already was. He was acting stranger than usual. Slightly dizzy, she leaned a hand onto the surprisingly comfortable…bed. "Let me out, Erik. You know this isn't…proper."

Erik tilted his head to the side. "Proper? I wasn't aware that women nowadays cared about such trivial things. I certainly didn't force you in here."

The young woman's face flushed. "You know what I mean," she said through her teeth. He wasn't doing anything extremely threatening, but she didn't want to set him off. Or remind him exactly _why_ she was in this room. She stayed firmly on her side of the bed, her blue eyes fixed on his. "If you care about me at all you will…" she trailed off as his eyes narrowed. Damn.

He stood up in one fluid motion, placing both his hands on the bed and leaning towards her. His voice was like metal, encased within smooth velvet. "_Care_ about you? Whatever gave you that idea?"

Christine shrank back from the expressionless mask. "You-you helped me when I was sick…you've been kind, in a way…" she said timidly. Erik turned around and crossed his arms, staring fixedly at the composition resting upon the music stand.

"I drugged you and kidnapped you," he said shortly.

She sat down on the bed wearily. She couldn't argue with that logic. What an absurd topic to be fighting over, really. She couldn't pretend that Erik was a good man anymore than he could. He was essentially a hired gun, and there wasn't any way out of it. Still, if she did the opposite of what he expected her to do, she might have a chance to escape. "You haven't actually hurt me," she pointed out.

His shoulders hunched over, and she could almost see sharp shoulder blades through his jacket. He said grimly, "I have not been told to."

Her voice was sharp; Christine was past her breaking point. "So are you saying-" she swung her legs over the bed so she was kneeling near him, "Are you saying that you would hurt me?" She reached up and touched his shoulder gently. "_Look at me_, Erik. Tell me now if you are, please, I'd like to be prepared."

The silent man turned and looked at her, sitting so earnestly, trustingly, in his room. He fumbled. How did she gain control of this so quickly? He couldn't tell her the truth…no, not yet. He couldn't; but she was looking at him like that, and at that moment he felt he could never deny her anything.

"Christine…No, damn you. I could never hurt..."

Christine watched him struggle, feeling oddly sympathetic towards her captor. She wouldn't push him any farther, lest he grew strange again. Erik trailed off, his lips set in a thin line. In an abrupt change of subject, the girl nodded her head towards the pipe organ and asked, "Do you play, Erik?"

He nodded in surprise, momentarily rendered mute. He sat down on the bench, gloved hands lingering over the keys lovingly. She watched him as his back straightened and his head went up, obviously in his element. He glanced behind him quickly. "Would you like to hear?"

She smiled a little in triumph. "I would."

The music that began then was of a caliber Christine had never heard before in her life, surpassing even her father's playing. It thundered and filled the room as he improvised effortless melodies. The music twirled around her in a dizzying whirl of emotion, and she found herself leaning back upon the black sheets in a daze. _Wake up, Christine, wake up…_

The notes grew soft and pleading, a contrast to the commanding tones of just a moment before. His long fingers danced, coaxing beautiful music from the instrument. If she wasn't in her right mind, she would have believed that she was in heaven. She lifted a hand to her golden curls, her body feeling strangely heavy. Her mind cried out for it to end…

The music ended on a discordant note, and Christine alternatively cursed and blessed the silence that followed. Erik turned around very, very slowly, then looked away quickly as she regarded him with wide, bewildered eyes. Neither of them spoke for a long while. Christine tried to think; her father, ask him about her father.

Finally, recovering her senses somewhat, the girl got up and took languid steps to where he was sitting, still as stone. As if in a trance, she bent her head towards his, hair grazing his shoulder. He did not move.

"You are a marvel," she said; then straightened up and left the room silently. Erik did not stop her, only turned his head and stared after her, fires burning within his golden eyes.


	9. If Only She Knew

A/N- Hey guys, sorry for the really late update. Senior year's started, and college stuff is already stressing me out. However, I love you all so much I decided to work really hard on this. Also, this chapter is dedicated to Bienvenido S. Canonizado for inspiring me to write this. Seriously, reviews really help. All of them are appreciated.

**Chapter 9: If Only She Knew**

Her teeth were chattering. Goosebumps appeared on her arms as she sat on the plush chair near her dresser. Try as she might, Christine could not get the echoes of Erik's music out of her head, and it was driving her insane. Was she to be stuck here forever, not knowing what was happening in the outside world, with only a masked man and his marvelous- no, _horrifying _music for company? Her eyes grew unfocused…the way he swayed, his hands spanning the keys…she squeezed them shut.

It was obvious that she was part of some greater scheme to get money from her father, but would it work? Or would she be down here until they decided she was useless and killed her? Gripping the pen tightly in clenched fingers, she slowly penned the words in her mind.

Christine wrote and wrote…for herself, for her father, for her uncertain future. The tremors calmed and her mind quieted, although the haunting melody that had so affected her was still in the back of her head. She wondered absently if it would always be there, like a forgotten memory, but not quite. More like a favorite dream gone wrong.

Her hand paused above the third page that she had started on, amazed at the amount of words she had written. She was just about to start once more when she heard a strange noise outside of her bedroom door. _Oh, no_, she said silently to herself, _we are _not_ going down that road again_. All the same, her curiosity was peaked. Christine patiently ignored the small snippets of conversation, until the yelling started.

She sat still in her chair, head tilted to the side in order to distinguish the voices. The shouting voice was deeper and gruffer than Erik's, and no where near as cultured. The girl still couldn't make out the words he was saying, but it was clear that he wasn't very pleased.

Giving up with a sigh, she went to the door and pressed her ear against it, trying to hear. Could it be that someone was looking for her? Someone who could help her get out of here and to her father?

Straightening, she tried the door, which turned out to be locked. Christine composed herself, tucking her blond curls behind her ears, and knocked on her door.

"Erik," she cried meekly, "Can you open the door now? Please?"

The muttered noises stopped abruptly, and she stepped away from the door. She heard footsteps and waited, sitting back down.

The doorknob clicked and the door swung open. Christine glanced up prettily and pouted.

"Erik, I'm kind of hungry…and my throat still hurts…" She started out strong, but faded out as a shorter man stepped out from behind Erik, appraising her. Erik's eyes flashed yellow fire at the man behind him, the sharp lines of his outline tense.

"So this is Daaé's daughter?" Joseph sneered. "I thought she'd be prettier."

Christine frowned and didn't look at him, choosing to look up at the tall man next to him instead. She didn't ask him anything, but he could read the question in her dark blue eyes. _What is happening? _Erik looked back at her solemnly, hoping she would be reassured. Of course, there wasn't much of a choice; a murderer she knew, and one she didn't.

The heavy man moved closer and placed a grimy finger underneath the girl's chin, forcing it upward. Christine didn't move; only stared through the sweaty face inches from her own. With a grunt, he released her and stepped back, crossing his arms.

He looked up at Erik cockily. "Well, Erik, go fetch the lovely lady some food."

Erik's jaw tightened and Christine could see the barely concealed rage underneath his calm exterior. She didn't understand the obvious power struggle between the two dangerous men. All she knew was that her captor was the lesser of two evils- that this new man frightened her even more. Erik still hadn't moved from his spot. Joseph's expression grew darker.

"Now." He placed his hand around Christine's slender neck and her eyes grew wide. The black-clad man started involuntarily from his place against the wall at the fear in her eyes, and Joseph smirked.

"Afraid to lose your little pet, Erik? Is she that important to you?"

Erik's hand clenched as he spoke coldly. "The girl means nothing to me," he said slowly, glancing away from Christine. "You know as well as I do that you need her still. If you kill her now, you'll have nothing to bargain with."

"True enough," the man conceded, his large hand still on Christine's windpipe. "Don't form an attachment to her and we won't have a problem. I won't let anything jeopardize this for me."

Christine jerked away from his hand suddenly and he let go, surprised. She trembled and massaged her neck, but her eyes were hard. "What do you want from my father and why is he in the hospital?" she said in a low voice.

Joseph chuckled. "Your father has some money that he owes me, which you are going to help me with." He paused and grinned. "As for the second question, he probably went into cardiac arrest when he found out his daughter was being held for ransom by a monster."

"Erik isn't a monster," Christine retorted angrily.

His eyebrows rose as he glanced behind him, addressing the masked man. "What have you done to her?"

Erik remained silent, clenching his hands around his arms. Joseph turned back to Christine.

"So he hasn't told you about the countless murders, then? The cleverly devised torture? Never heard of the infamous Angel of Death? What do you think is going to happen to you, hmm?

Christine's voice grew faint as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Erik wouldn't hurt me…he told me…"

"He's a very accomplished liar, poor girl." Joseph's voice grew deceptively soft as he placed a grubby hand on her thin shoulder. "And has he ever shown you his face? Horrible, really…" He leaned closer to her and she shrank back in her chair.

All of a sudden Erik was there, a solid presence at her shoulder. She looked up briefly as he grabbed hold of the other man's hand in a tight grip and lifted it off of her. Christine sat perfectly still, caught between the two men. She resisted the urge to laugh hysterically.

"Time to go, Joseph." Erik's voice was coldly uncompromising as he watched Evans, his eyes burning. The shorter man took a step back at the menace in Erik's voice, voicing his displeasure.

"You can't control me, Erik."

"No, but I could kill you," he said conversationally, taking a step forward.

"Damn it, you still work for me." Joseph's voice grew higher in barely-controlled panic.

"Unfortunately. I find that your brash orders exceedingly try my patience. " Erik took out a thin length of rope from seemingly nowhere, and Joseph took another step backwards as he advanced. Christine gasped softly in shock, but Erik heard and glanced at her curiously. That was all Evans needed to pull the small automatic from his pocket and point it, not at Erik, but at Christine.

"Have some sense. I _will _return, and you _will_ do what I say." He stepped backwards out of the room, still holding the gun steady at the girl's knee. Joseph smiled with regained confidence. "I'll call later."

Neither of them moved until they heard the slamming of the front door. Christine closed her eyes, a single tear leaking from under her lids. She shivered in her chair at the lingering sensation of Joseph's hand on her neck. Erik watched her, his body still tense at the threat.

She looked at him through her tears, noticing that he wasn't wearing his thick black overcoat for once, only a black, collared shirt. He offered her a black gloved hand, and she grasped it firmly, burying her face into his shoulder with a sob. His eyes widened and he took a sharp breath at the sudden contact, but let her cry. She nestled closer to his body and wrapped her arms around his torso. He could feel her shaking. Tentatively, he raised his hand and stroked the back of her head, reveling in the slight pressure of her cheek pressed against his chest. _This cannot be happening…not to me._

Christine closed her eyes, emitting shuddering breaths as Erik pulled her closer, unable to resist. She felt ridiculous, but did not move away. The reassurance of another person was comforting, even though he was partly the cause of her misery. She felt his fast heartbeat under the thin shirt, and the misleading thinness of his frame. He continued to stroke her hair, murmuring quiet nothings into her ear until she calmed down.

She pulled back slowly, her cheeks a flaming red. "I'm sorry," she stammered, biting her lip furiously. She glanced up at his black-masked face, then looked down again as she realized he was still holding her waist. "Erik?"

His golden eyes were soft as he relinquished his hold on her, pulling his hands back quickly. He tilted his head as he examined her, touching the light bruises on her neck with a gentle finger. Christine wondered how such sensitive hands could also be agile instruments of death.

"No. It is my fault," he said mournfully. "I let him go too far. I could have stopped him…"

"He is horrible," she confessed, the fear finally leaving her eyes.

Erik ached. _If only she knew…I am much worse…_

"He won't threaten you again," he vowed, anger evident in his tone.

"But he will," she persisted. "If he wants money from my father, then I am the only way he can get it."

"Your father is in the hospital, suffering from severe pneumonia at the moment. Nothing is going to happen."

She felt suddenly claustrophobic in her room. Christine breathed deeply and tried very hard not to scream in frustration and anger. She felt so _dirty_ after the way Joseph had looked at her…not like a person with thoughts and feelings, but a mere object. It was as if she was only there to do his bidding- nothing more, nothing less.

"Erik, could we go somewhere…somewhere not in this room? I feel like…"

He nodded, a lock of black hair falling over his eyes. She followed him out of the room and down a hallway, entering the kitchen she had glimpsed on her ill-fated adventure. She sat down at the gleaming counter, resting her face in her hands. Gratefully accepting the glass of water Erik handed her, she sipped at it slowly. She held the glass in two trembling hands and looked up at him, as he turned back with a bottle of medicine and a spoon.

Christine still couldn't get the thought out of her mind that a gun had been pointed at her with serious intention to harm. Somehow she had never quite grasped the danger of her situation, thinking that Erik was the worst she would have to deal with. There was no doubt that he had done terrible things, but she knew now that he wouldn't harm her. Why, she hadn't fully understood yet.

"Do you think he would have shot me?" she asked bluntly.

He poured the medicine onto the spoon and gave it to her. She took it and drank it, despite the bitter taste.

"I don't think he would have gone that far. It was just to…intimidate me, I suppose," he said thoughtfully.

She frowned. "Intimidate you? But why would threatening me help anything?"

Erik looked at her quickly, only the flickering light of his eyes betraying his edginess. "Because he saw that I was," he struggled on, "am _attached _to you, in a way. You understand?"

She nodded slowly, a knot gathering in her throat. She choked. "I'll never get out of this, will I? He'll kill me. "

He sighed, and resisted the urge to take her in his arms again. "My Christine…" he said quietly, "Do you trust me?"

She paused, then nodded again. She had no choice. "…Yes."

A glimmer of a smile. "Good. Come, get your jacket. Quickly."

Christine stood up, brow furrowed. "But where are we-"

"You'll see," he said, pulling on a black cloak. He paced back and forth, his body posture emanating a feverish intensity and she fled to her room, grabbing her coat. She emerged, eyes shining in excitement and fear. Was he letting her go?

Erik turned her around gently, placing a thick cloth over her eyes that entirely obscured her vision. She couldn't contain the small sigh of frustration as Erik took her hand again and led her out the door and up some stairs. He was entirely too careful for her liking. Judging by the stairs leading up, his house had to be…underground?

Her train of thought was interrupted as cold wind hit her face. Christine breathed in deeply, the air searing her lungs. Erik let her enjoy it for a minute, then pulled her into the waiting vehicle. She sat blindly, feeling the leather seat underneath her hands. She could sense his closeness as he leaned forward and shut the door, saying something in another language to the driver.

"Erik, could you take the blindfold off? I won't know where we are."

"No, Christine." He sounded as jumpy as a spooked racehorse. "People will ask you if you remember, after all this, and you will lead them straight to me. I will take it off once we get closer to our destination."

"I still don't understand," she whispered stubbornly, losing her balance a bit as the car started.

He rested his elbows on his knees and sat forward, studying her intently. She could _feel_ his gaze through the black cloth.

"I thought you said that you trusted me," Erik said, his voice heated.

"I do," she said quickly.

"Then be patient, if you want to go outside." he ground out through clenched teeth.

Christine, aptly sensing that he wasn't in a conversational mood, quickly shut her mouth. This was not new to her. The car weaved through traffic as its passengers sat in silence. After a while, the tense atmosphere in the car changed and Erik relaxed a bit more. She tried to stay still, but her unease was growing. She caught her breath as she felt the slight brush of his hand against her cheek.

He leaned closer as his nimble fingers undid the blindfold, his breathing harsh as he sat back down. She immediately looked outside the window, hoping to see people and lights. Instead, she found the streets pitch-dark. Forcing herself to remain calm, she leaned back on the seat and looked across to her companion. All she could see were two lights and the faint outline of a man. Christine shivered slightly, reminded of their first encounter.

"Cold?" The shadow leaned forward.

She shook her head no. "Are we close to-"

The car jerked to a stop and Christine fell forward in surprise. Erik caught her arm in an iron grip, loosening his hold when she winced. "We are here," he stated, opening the door and helping her out. She opened her eyes wide, trying to see through the darkness, and heard Erik chuckle.

She huffed and put a hand on her hip. "I'm very sorry, sir, but not all of us have night vision like yourself."

Without saying a word, he stepped closer to her and gently tipped her face upwards to the sky. Her mouth curved in a wide smile, forgetting her troubles for the first time in what seemed like forever.


	10. Stars

Yeah...life is really messed-up right now, but I decided I'm going to try to finish this. Enjoy it...and review!

Chapter 10: **Stars**

"Erik, it's beautiful…"

"I thought you might enjoy it," came the carefully guarded reply.

Christine stared up at millions of stars usually obscured by the smog of the city. They twinkled against the inky backdrop. She turned around in a circle, still looking up at the sky.

"Where are we?" She had never been able to see stars this clearly.

"It's an abandoned area. People tend to avoid it, and there aren't any factories near. You wanted to go outside, and we won't be followed here."

"Right." Her spirits dropped a little- for an instant, she thought he would be letting her go. Erik tilted his head to the side.

"If you'd like to go back…"

"No," she answered quickly. She wanted to stay outside as long as she could. Closing her eyes, she twirled around, holding her arms straight out. The wind whipped through her curls, her cheeks pink. Christine spun and dipped, laughing to herself. Gravel crunched under her sneakers and she felt gloriously alive.

The phantom that stood at the edge of the lot watched her every move, eyes glowing feverishly bright. All that was needed was a white dress to complete the exquisite picture. A _wedding _dress. And the perfect, filmy veil…a ring…_and why don't you add in some glass slippers, you great fool. My, someone is getting disgustingly maudlin. The Angel of Death undone by a beautiful girl. _

Erik crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against an abandoned building, his jaw set. The girl stopped spinning, and swayed dizzily. She staggered over to the wall, and tilted her head up to look at the stars again. Christine stood in one place for a couple of minutes, panting.

"Erik?" she called breathlessly. "Where are you?"

After a few seconds, he stepped closer behind her. "I'm here," he said. She turned around, only slightly surprised, a dreamy expression on her face.

"Why did you do this?" she asked, pushing a curl behind her ear.

Erik remained silent. Christine looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

"You are smiling," he stated, his voice coming out in a strangled whisper. She smiled and placed a hand on his arm, looking up into the black mask. "Thank you," she said calmly, the fear gone. Hesitating, she reached up as if to kiss him, her lips inches away from his jaw. Neither one moved until Christine drew back without touching him. She turned her face away, mortified. Was she really just about to kiss him? She was supposed to _hate _him. He was immoral. He had killed innocent people. And yet, she found herself thinking kindly of him, sometimes. Maybe she had that condition. What was it? Stockholm syndrome. She was sympathizing with him because he was in the position of power and she was not. It wasn't her fault.

Erik's sigh hitched in his chest. For a moment, he thought she might have voluntarily…but no. It was all in his head. He took her arm roughly and led her back towards the car as his mood turned black.

"We must return."

She tugged back, resisting. "But I want to stay longer."

He hissed in frustration. "If we stay longer, we might be detected."

His hand clenched around her upper arm harder, and she yelped. What was happening? "Let go, Erik. I don't want to go back yet."

His sudden anger cooled at the sound of her in pain, and he took a long breath. "I'm sorry to inform you that not everyone gets what they want, dear Christine. Stop being obstinate."

Christine bit her lip, hard. "I'm not being obstinate. Just…give me ten more minutes, okay?"

Erik disappeared into the darkness, which she took to mean yes. She sat cross-legged on the cold ground, not caring if her jeans got dirty. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared up at the cold sky and shivered. The stars couldn't help her. No one could. She was on her own. She was on her own and she couldn't think of anything that might help her escape. Not one damn thing. Her eyes grew unfocused, the twinkling lights blurring. She didn't even react when a black-cloaked figure crouched down beside her, trailing a finger across her cheek. He hummed, and it seemed to echo in her head. The slight noise he made was entrancing, better than she ever dreamed. It was the voice of an angel, and Christine felt herself falling under the spell, just like when he played for her. She slowly leaned her head on his bony shoulder. _Stockholm,_ she reminded herself. _This isn't actually you thinking. You are afraid, you just don't realize it._

She still enjoyed the slight caress upon her face and the singing in her ear and the wind blowing through her hair. She tried to make out the words but couldn't. Christine closed her eyes, feeling strangely weightless. She had everything to lose; and here she was, letting some strange man stroke her cheek. Would he stop if she asked? she wondered. She raised her head from his shoulder with half a mind to ask, but she was pulled up in a standing position before she opened her mouth. Erik put a hand to the small of her back and led her back to the car. She went without a struggle, yearning to hear that crooning song again. He seated himself and she curled up next to him. The car started moving again.

"Sing," she begged, most unlike herself. She realized she was being terribly forward, and then realized that she didn't care. What could it hurt?

He shook his head no, his lips set in a thin line. If he could ever find out what freak arrangement of his vocal cords caused certain people to be reduced to a state of mindless obedience, he would do it. It had never bothered him before…in fact, it usually came in quite handy. However, seeing Christine in that same state disturbed him to no end. He watched, unnerved, as she brought her face closer. _What the devil was the girl doing?_

She wanted him to sing. Or at least say something. No, he just sat there, like he was punishing her for being a bad girl. There had to be something to break that insufferable composure. Christine knew that she was getting out of control. She did that sometimes. She wasn't perfect. Her college friends were amazed every time the quiet, reserved Christine would do something crazy. She got that feeling in the pit of her stomach, a reckless burst of rare energy. If she could just shock him by doing something unexpected…a real kiss?

_No. Very bad idea…_the rational part of her brain told her. The other, bigger part wanted to know how he would react. It was like a dare- now that it was in her head, she couldn't ignore it.

So she leaned in closer, closer…her nose almost touching the mask…and closed her lips over his. They were surprisingly soft and cool, and she smiled against his mouth as he froze in absolute shock. She drew back slightly to find his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. Her fingers traced the outline of the silken mask as she placed another kiss on his parted lips. She felt him finally respond, felt him move gently against her, entwining his hand into her curls. The mask that covered most of his face irritated Christine as the kiss deepened. She had never seen his face before…her fingers curled underneath the mask…

With a strength that shouldn't have surprised her, Erik grabbed her wrist and wrenched himself away from her, tossing her back against the black leather of the car seat. His eyes were blazing and his hands were shaking. He cursed himself for his weakness, for singing to her- cursed himself for letting his guard down like that, cursed himself for enjoying it.

Christine watched him, face pale. Why had she ever thought he wasn't frightening? How did she ever convince herself that he cared about her? And _why _could she never listen to common sense? To think she was about to take his mask off…!

The only sound in the car was the whisper of Christine's irregular breathing. Erik raised his head slowly, his hands clenched on his knees.

"You know not what you are doing. This is not a game you can play and remain unscathed, girl.

She regarded him haughtily now, her sense of pride wounded. The spell was broken. She had always hated to be controlled, to be told that someone else's way was better. "I know exactly what I'm doing. You think I'm a child, that I can't even make my own decisions? You think I don't what the consequences are?"

He spoke sharply. "You are a child. That little stunt of yours changes nothing. I told you not to touch the mask. Perhaps you thought to …persuade me, like I was any other man. I never took you for a loose woman, Christine."

A small hand flew through the air and connected with his uncovered jaw with a hard smack. His head turned to the side as she raged at him.

"How dare you! You knew…you knew just as well as I did! You even…you kissed me back, you horrible pig. You didn't stop me! How dare you even think that I-"

"Calm yourself, you are growing hysterical." He stopped her upraised hand just as she reared back again. If anyone else had hit him, they would be dead by now. His fiery little temptress fighting back in righteous fury, even as tears welled up in her eyes, her lips red and her cheeks pink with indignation. "It was my mistake, and it won't happen again, I assure you."

"Don't take my choice away from me, Erik." Christine said, low and hard. "You can lock me up in a room and feed me nothing but bread and water, but you can't forget it." Her voice turned plaintive. "It was just a kiss. Am I that repulsive to you, that you can't even-?"

"We're here, sir," called the driver, interrupting his response.

"Close your eyes," Erik commanded. She glared at him, obviously not done with the discussion.

"I will not."

"Then I shall have to do this the hard way." He stepped out of the car and scooped Christine up from the seat, legs kicking.

"I'll scream," she threatened.

He laughed coldly. "Go ahead and scream. There's no one to hear you."

She opened her mouth just as he shifted her position, so that her face was pressed against his shoulder. Effectively silenced, she continued to kick as he carried her down, unlocking the door and depositing her on the floor of the sitting room. She was up in an instant, staring at him through narrowed eyes.

"Well?"

Erik took her chin and studied her defiant expression. All traces of fear seemed to have left her in the heat of her anger. _Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,_ he thought absently. If only he could love her without barriers. If only he wasn't what he was. He would have a face, a real face…

"Won't you say something? I didn't take off your mask. I didn't!"

She was so close, so close. Too close…he couldn't stop himself. He kissed her, he kissed her, he kissed her.

"If you don't open the door right now, we will break in," shouted Nadir through the locked door. There was still no answer. He nodded at the rest of the team, who hurriedly broke down the door and entered, guns held aloft as a precaution.

"Check all of the rooms. He could still be hiding somewhere." He said in a short, clipped voice. Taking out his own gun, he prowled around the derelict house, which was obviously abandoned.

"Damn it," Nadir whispered to himself. He had found out about this potential hiding spot of Joseph Evans only by pure luck, and it was all for nothing. The man was not here, and by the look of the place, neither was anyone else. Still, he checked in the nooks and crannies for any hidden notes that could be helpful. The rest of the team did likewise, overturning cabinets and tables in search of clues. The dark-skinned man cursed again. If he had only come earlier…

"We've found something, sir!" called one of the men.

He hurried over to where they were crouching, staring at something hidden in a crack near the bottom of the wall. Looking around, he realized they were in a small, dingy bedroom. The room had a thick scent of cigarette smoke. Nadir reached in slowly and took the crumpled piece of paper out, unfolding it. He stared at the small number written on the note. It took him a while to realize it for what it was-an address. But whose?

_10467 West 33__rd__ Street, Bronx._

Could it be a trap, or another clue to this puzzle? Could this be the new address of one Joseph Evans? Who would then lead them to the elusive Angel of Death, therefore finding Christine? There was no way of knowing, but this was their only lead. And Nadir Khan was determined to get to the bottom of the strange affair and get the persons responsible behind bars.

"We've got a new lead, people," he announced grimly. "I don't know what we're getting into, but we need to be careful. Call backup, undercover. I want to find this girl as quickly as possible."

The team headed back outside, ignoring shouts from the hardened street kids.

He only hoped that Christine wasn't dead by the time they got to her.


End file.
